The Tumblr Drabbles
by Mordreds Girl
Summary: Various fills written on Tumblr. Individual summaries/prompts/pairings inside.
1. Better?, Pydia

Guess who's decided to post all the rest of her Pydia stuff here?

Prompt was: banoradumbapple: If you still want some three-word lydia prompts, here's one: Pydia, porn/smut, prompt: "Am I better?"

XXX

"Am I better?"

Lydia yanks his hair for such a vague question, better than who? Than what?

Peter pauses in his work, gently mouthing at her scars teeth scraping just enough to be pleasure-pain, and gives a smile that's both boyish and knife sharp. She refuses to answer the question, both spoken and in his eyes, she's already playing into his hand enough as it is.

He pouts, but resumes his work; moving deliciously lower, teeth leaving little furrows of blood on her belly. When he reaches her cunt she doesn't get any warning besides a brief chuckle that vibrates through her, she arches and moans as his tongue sinks in wiggling and twisting.

Another moan escapes her when he finally lavishes her clit with attention; she eagerly arches into it, feeling the responding twitch of his hips with the heels of her feet.

While she loves his enjoyment of foreplay, he promised her sex today and she won't settle for anything less than actual penetration. She yanks on his hair, "Peeettteeer. Come on!"

His huff of amusement tickles. "Pushy."

Now she's the one being amused. "You love it, now shut up and fuck me."

He gives her a last slurping lick before finally moving up to cage her with his body. His eyes look straight into hers and she shivers at the intensity. Then she's closing her eyes and arching up into him as he sinks in, a tiny sigh escapes her.

"Am I the best?"


	2. Chaos, Pydia

Guess who's decided to post all the rest of her Pydia stuff on ?

Prompt was: Anonymous: pydia - it's been 5 years and Lydia has moved to another city, found new friends, put her life back together; but a chance meeting with Peter Hale changes everything

XXX

Lydia likes hanging out with Sarah, Christine, and the rest of their posse. They don't judge her when she starts talking to people they can't see; not that they could considering their own weirdness.

Though she's currently regretting getting drunk with them.

"And then the asshole had the gall to live in my head for the next few weeks."

Sarah apparently finds this uproariously hilarious. Lydia doesn't agree, and blames the other girl for mentioning WIBSY (Weird Boyfriend & Supernatural Stalker Club) at lunch earlier in the day. Because for all the rest of the day all she'd been able to think about was Peter Hale.

And she'd been doing so well at distancing herself from that portion of her life.

Now she's drunk and chatty; she knew she shouldn't have fallen for Sarah and Christine's doe eyes. Though really, they're the perfect audience to finally get all of the anger she's had pent up for five years.

Lydia-the-younger smiles. "Well you're definitely a WIBSY."

Actual-Lydia lets herself collapse onto her couch with more drama than actually necessary. "Fuck."

Despite joining Sarah on the doe eyes Christine's drunk very little, Lydia glowers at her and her well thought-outness. "So have you seen him since then?"

"Nope, Nada, Nyet. After I graduated that spring I gallivanted off to Boston and never looked back. Best decision of my life."

Sarah ruins the somber moment. "So was he hot?"

When asked later Lydia will insist that it was solely the drink talking. "Oh God yes."

000

Two weeks later and she and Sarah are escaping the oncoming cold in the university coffee shop and bitching about their upcoming finals. "And Mrs. Richmond expects me to take a completely different final from everyone else because she says I'll screw up the grading curve otherwise."

Sarah makes a face. "Nice. Go complain to the administration."

Lydia arches an eyebrow. "You're kidding right? This way I might actually have a challenging final."

"Only you Lydia, only you would want to actually think with Christmas coming up. Speaking of which, do you have any plans?"

She shrugs. "Not really. Like every other year Stiles sent me an invitation to have Christmas with them all, but I never go. The eternal march forward waits for no woman."

"Well if you want my opinion I think you should go. Knock 'em all dead with your hotness and tell Peter you think he's hot and the two of you can enjoy your mutual attractiveness together."

Lydia nearly spits out her drink. "Hell will have to freeze over first."

Sarah waggles her eyebrows. "I could arrange that."

Sad thing is, Lydia knows she actually can. Frightening really. "Seriously? You want me to spend Christmas with the guy who had a crush on me for eight years, his boyfriend, his boyfriend's creepy uncle who you're convinced I like, and their friends. All of whom are werewolves?"

"Says the twenty-two year old who's halfway done with her Master's degree and regularly talks to the dead. To reuse some ancient advice 'Sometimes the way forward is also the way back', coming to terms with your past might help you 'march forward'."

Luckily Lydia doesn't have to think of a response because Norman comes bursting into the shop and makes a bee-line straight for her. "So I, uh, might need your help."

Lydia sighs.

000

Christmas is only a few days away and Lydia is still struggling with Sarah's suggestion. When she'd left Beacon Hill she'd sworn never to go back. But sometimes she misses life there. Misses seeing Allison, Danny, and Stiles. She even kind of misses the other student's cowering before her because she was Lydia Martin, undisputed queen of Beacon Hills.

The day before Christmas Eve she caves. After quickly packing a bag she races down the stairs, she'd learned to avoid the elevator after being stuck in it with Legolas for three hours, and nearly kills herself on an ice patch on the way to her car.

Luckily the drive to the airport is quick. The fee for parking her car in the garage for a few days is exorbitant, but she willingly forks over her card. Even the actual round-trip ticket to Sacramento is cheaper.

A five hour flight later and snow and ice are only a memory. The rental car line is far too long for her tastes but she goes to the end anyways. By the time she gets a car it's dinner time and her stomach's reminding her the last time she ate was breakfast. To top it all off jet lag is starting to catch up with her.

She feels no remorse in getting disgustingly-bad-for-you fast food on the way to a hotel, nor in eating it while driving. She manages to snatch of the last room in the first hotel she goes to, grateful that she'll only need it for the night.

000

It's Christmas Eve and Lydia indulges herself and sleeps in until noon. As always she takes her time getting ready, rushing never did anyone good.

She just barely escapes having to pay for an extra day when she checks out. And she's already left the city limits when she realizes she has no presents. Then she realizes she's basically going to see complete strangers who's tastes she doesn't even know anymore. She hopes they consider her coming enough of a gift.

The two hour drive back to Beacon Hills is full of lots of trees. She challenges herself to identify them at sixty-five miles an hour.

Entering Beacon Hills proper is like being slapped in the face with nostalgia, though not necessarily all good. She's so caught up in remembering that she nearly misses the turn-off for the Hale house. And pulling up to the house proper fills her with apprehension.

She leaves her bag in the car and goes up to the door. It opens before she even has a chance to knock. And of course it's Peter. "Hello Lydia. So good to see you after all these years."

Stiles is there before she has to think of an actual response. "Lydia!" He scoops her up into a hug that leaves her surprised. "I'm so glad you came!"

"Hi," she hates how sheepish she sounds.

"You made it just it time for dinner!" He pulls her past Peter and into the kitchen and just keeps chatting on like she hasn't been gone for five years.

000

By the end of the night Lydia is tired, but happy. Stiles helps her up. "I hope you're not planning on going to your mom's. Come on, we've got a guest room you can use."

She collapses onto bed with a happy sigh.

000

The next morning she awakes at the not-so-happy hour of four AM. _Stupid time difference_.

Stumbling into the kitchen she's too tired to conceal her surprise at seeing Peter there. "Coffee?" He holds up a mostly full carafe and she gives a vigorous nod as she slumps into a bar stool.

And she's too tired to be freaked out that he adds just the right amount of cream to her cup. Her first sip has her making vaguely obscene happy noises. She can already feel herself waking up, even though the caffeine hasn't actually broken down yet. Or at least awake enough to try and have a decent conversation. "So what has you up at the ass-crack of dawn?"

She bites her lip in embarrassment because clearly she's been spending too much time around Sarah. Peter just chuckles. "I never went to sleep, too restless. As the saying goes I'll sleep when I'm dead."

And yet she's still sleepy enough that she bursts into probably inappropriate laughter. He raises an eyebrow in silent question. "You already were dead. How much sleep did that net you?"

He chuckles. "Not much I warrant, but enough."

Logically she knows dawn isn't for a few more hours, but the world seems a little brighter than it was a few minutes ago.


	3. Cicurate, Pydia

Guess who's decided to post all the rest of her Pydia stuff here?

Prompt was: littlenorthernsparrow: Pydia: cicurate verse, Lydia thinking about college.

XXX

Lydia fidgets, her nails tapping restless rhythms against her keyboard as she stares at her laptop screen, staring at MIT's admissions page. With a sigh she forces her hands to stop by raising them up and rubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes in an attempt to relieve some of her headache. She hadn't thought applying to a college would be this difficult a decision.

Before, well. . ._everything_, she'd planned on applying to MIT and Cambridge, knowing she wouldn't have problems getting into either; the only tough decision being which one she would actually go to. And now she doesn't even want to _consider _Cambridge, she doesn't think she could deal with that much distance.

Another sigh escapes her and she leans back in her chair to stare at the ceiling. _What the hell is she going to do?_

Somewhere downstairs a crash sounds an amused huff escapes her, apparently she's going to investigate what happened. Standing up she leaves her office and goes halfway down the stairs, leaning over the bannister she speaks down. "What was that?"

About a million variations of 'nothing' in nine childish voices come back, followed by the more adult answers of: 'kids' from Malia –hadn't that been the shock of the century for her _and_ Peter to discover he was already a father– and 'we've got it Lydia' from Jackson; she didn't know whether to be amused, confused, or weirded out that Jackson and Malia were dating.

Regardless she didn't trust any of them and finished going down the stairs and headed towards where she thought the voices had come from, despite being Alpha for six years she still has trouble feeling the bonds between herself and the pack. Sometimes Peter tells her her she just needs to be patient, other times he says she might not develop them at all. Was it too much to ask for straight, concrete answers?

She'd guessed right though, the library has everyone surrounding a heavy oak bookcase trying to lift it. Standing in the doorway she crosses her arms and glares at the supposed adults. "Really? Do I even want to know _how_ this happened?"

Nine children ranging in age from nine –Stiles and Derek's adopted oldest– to toddling two –her and Peter's second– had the decency to look embarrassed. Then again Malia looks embarrassed too, Jackson is Jackson. "We've got it handled Lyds, Sam got overeager."

The aforementioned nine year old lets out a growl of disagreement, but before some giant argument can break out she raises a hand. "Overeager is eating until you get sick Jackson, and honestly I don't care who did what or why, I just want it cleaned up, then everyone needs to be out of the house." Her headache starts growing.

Josh wobbles over to her and waves chubby arms. "Mama." With a little sigh she scoops him up.

"Fine. Malia you want to take the kids out?" Jackson manages to shift the bookcase a little.

Malia's expression turns stricken, even though she's been re-adjusting to being human for three years she still seems anxious around kids, but she nods. "Come on little beasts."

"Can we got running mom?" Talia –Peter had surprised her when he insisted their daughter be named after his sister– looked excited by her own suggestion; the other kinds clamber in agreement, except Josh who seems content to cling to her.

Her free hands rises up to rub the bridge of her nose. "If Malia's willing, sure. But decide outside and stay close to her." Talia might not remember getting snatched by faeries when she's three but Lydia does.

All the kids start shouting, those able to shift partial, as they race out; Jackson snags Sam before he leaves. Malia follows at a more sedate pace, brushing against Lydia in a comforting manner. Shortly the only sound is Sam's grumbling complaints.

"You can join them once we've got the bookcase done." Jackson ruffles the boy's hair before walking to her and hugging her and Josh. "You okay?" His hand brushes her neck, leeching some of her pain.

"No," she mutters into his shoulder. "But it's stuff I need to talk over with Peter first."

He squeezes for a second before letting her go. "I'll make you tea when I"m done here."

She rolls her eyes. "Alright worry wart." She has to admit this isn't the relationship she expected to have them to have back when they were still in school. Hoisting Josh a little higher she manages a smile. "But thanks."

"Let's go sweetie," she walks out and heads back upstairs. "You want a nap, or playtime?"

"Play!" Of course.

Back in her study she puts Josh in his playpen; he picks up a wooden block and starts gnawing on it. She's going to have to toss it tomorrow, otherwise he's liable to get splinters. Werewolf babies go through a disturbingly amount of toys.

Sitting down she wakes up her laptop and stares once more at her computer screen. The admissions page still sits there, just waiting for any sort of action. Instead she opens a new tab and loads up Pandora and lets it run her default station, just as much for Josh as for herself.

Out of the corner of her eye she watches Josh to make sure he doesn't do anything to dangerous, before she'd had werewolf children of her own she hadn't believed a single story Derek or Peter would tell about their respective childhoods.

A knock on the door pulls her out of her train of thought, looking up she sees Jackson carrying a tray with the whole nine yards of tea accessories, and it doesn't escape her notice that there are two cups on said tray. Accepting her cup she arches an eyebrow. "Is there something specific you wanted to talk about or is it just general moaning?" She's had to get herself in the habit of censoring herself again now that Josh is starting to talk.

Jackson huffs, rolls his eyes, and grabbing his mug takes a seat on the floor; instantly Josh tries to reach through the play pen netting to try and attack Jackson's feet a few inches away. "I'm thinking about proposing to Malia."

Which is a big fucking deal because, even after three years, Malia's still struggling with her humanity and learning things in general. Moving her mug from both hands to one hand she takes a sip, enjoying the smokey ceylon tea, and with her newly freed hand reaches out and absentmindedly plays with Jackson's hair. "You think she's ready for that?"

He shrugs as he leans into her touch. "Hell if I know Lydia, but if I don't ask I'll never know." 

She has no real answer for that and remains silent, wondering how things will change if she basically leaves for four years –maybe less if she takes summer classes too–, MIT has online classes but she knows they're not the same. What bits of pack life will she miss by being away, how will the dynamics change?

In contemplative silence they drink their teas, they're almost to the end of the pot when Jackson perks up. "Peter's home." He stands and scoops up the tray. "I'll just deal with this and then hunt down Malia."

Lydia can't help but roll her eyes at the blatant catering, "thanks."

At least Jackson smiles before heading out. Lydia watches Josh start gnawing, thank God she stopped breastfeeding before his fangs grew in, a stuffed sheep Erica had gotten as a gag gift; a snort of amusement escapes her when he makes a face and starts trying to spit out stuffing and fleece. Tearing her focus away she goes back to her laptop and brings up MIT's admissions page again. She might as well bite the bullet.

Even with her nerves she still can't help but feel. . .content as she listens to Peter moving around downstairs, it strikes an odd balance in her when she hears him start moving up the stairs.

Unlike Jackson he doesn't knock when he comes in, his warm hands rest on her shoulders and shortly thereafter his thumbs being rubbing her neck. He lays a kiss on the crown of her head. "Good afternoon dear moon. Did you manage to keep yourself entertain while I was away?" His playful tone surprises her, he's usually not like this after going into Beacon Hills on business.

"No Peter, I fair managed to keep myself awake I got so bored." She turns her chair so they can have a proper kiss, even though it means his massage ends.

When he pulls away he chuckles. "At least your lies are amusing." He lays another quick kiss to her lips. "Anything terribly interesting happen?"

Lydia shrugs, "Jackson said he might propose to Malia."

A full laugh erupts from Peter. "No wonder the pup smelled nervous when he passed me. And I vaguely dread thinking of him as a son-in-law." Lydia finds herself laughing at that, because it's kind of a hilarious thought.

"Anything else?"

Even thought it's highly awkward Lydia turns her head a little and buries it in Peter's shoulder, enough that she feels them heave with his sigh. "Lydia. . ."

"I want to go to college." It might not feel like a weight's been lifted from her shoulders, but it's out there now and not just inside her.

She doesn't resist when Peter scoops her up, and soon she finds herself in his lap as he sits on the floor across from Josh, who looks like he's fallen asleep half on top of the half-mauled stuffed sheep. "I fail to see why that's worrying you Lydia." Peter lays a kiss on her cheek. "You're a fantastically intelligent woman, and if you want to go then I see no reason why you shouldn't."

The sound Lydia makes is somewhere between a sigh and a huff of laughter. "Peter if I do this I wouldn't be going to the community college, or Stanford, or any place like that. I'd be at MIT, on the other side of the country." She hasn't been anywhere farther than a few miles from anyone in the pack since high school, and it's a little terrifying to think about being thousands of miles away especially since some of that pack is now her own children.

One of Peter's hands returns to her neck, gently rubbing and leeching tension and pain from her. "We can make it work if we have to love. You being happy is just as important as the well-being of the pack, and I think, over all, we can survive without you for a while." A kiss on her temple. "Though I do hope you know there's no negotiating about coming home during breaks, you'll need them just as much as we will."

Now it's only laughter that leaves her. "Really Peter? I wouldn't have guessed, not in a million years."

His eyes flare red and he snaps his fangs at her in a mock-threating manner. "Are you making light of your alpha Mrs. Hale?"

With a smile she arches up and kisses him. "I would _never_ Mr. Hale."


	4. Comfort, Pydia

Guess who's decided to post all the rest of her Pydia stuff here?

Prompt was: charloedrama: Pydia, domestic fluff "But of course..."

XXX

Lydia comes home to find Peter humming along to the Beatles and cooking. A smile blooms on her face despite the bad day she had. Slipping off her heels, she slid onto one of the bar-stools letting her feet dangle. "any special occasion?"

He sets his spoon down and sidles over to her giving her a wonderful welcome home kiss. "A little bird may have told me about what happened today."

A huff escapes her, Stiles is such a pack busy-body. "Really? And did that little bird exaggerate at all?"

Peter laughs as he returns to stirring the pot, the savory smelling vapor coming from it making her mouth water. "But of course, this is Stiles we're talking about. There was more truth in his story though, so dinner, a little wine, maybe a foot rub."

She gives an ecstatic sigh at that thought, "you keep talking like that and you'll turn me into goo."

"Well then…"


	5. Confrontation, Pydia

Guess who's decided to post all the rest of her Pydia stuff here?

Prompt was: oltha-heri: Since I saw the post in the Pydia tag: Lydia confronts Peter about why he used young!Peter.

AUish for season 3 obviously.

XXX

"Have fun!" The woman leers as she unceremoniously tosses Lydia into the cage. She winces as her shoulder slams into the concrete floor, but doesn't give the woman the satisfaction of a grunt or any other sign of pain. Hand help her up, but when she sees who it is she quickly scrambles away from him. "Stay away!"

Peter holds his hands out in front of him, "I was just trying to help."

"Yeah, we'll you can go help someone else somewhere else."

He has the gall to roll his eyes. "You and I are going to be stuck in here for a while, the least we could do is be civil towards each other."

"Says the man who threatened and abused me."

Peter huffed. "Would you have done what I wanted if I had asked nicely?"

She gave him a saccharine smile,"well we'll never know now will we?"

She watches warily as Peter slumps down into the corner farthest from her. "If I apologized would you believe me?"

Her eyes narrow. "It depends."

"On what?"

Lydia straightens, tilting her chin up a bit; not to bare her neck, but to assert herself. "On whether or not you actually mean it."

He sighs and straighten too. "And how do I prove that I do?"

"I have some questions. And ff I find out you lied to me I will kill you myself."

Peter raises an eyebrow. "Have I ever lied to you?"

She already knows the answer is 'no', say what she would at least he'd never done that. "Did you know about me and my 'immunity' before you attacked me, or was it just happenstance?"

"I had a hunch, your scent is unusual, even among humans. But I had only caught whiffs of it during our chance encounters. That was why I followed you and the Argent girl to the mall, to get a better noseful if you will." He smiles. "And even then you exceeded my wildest expectations, how lucky was I to find the one person who could break the paradigm of change or die? You survived, and it's been driving Derek mad ever since. Quite adorable really."

"Jackson survived too." She challenges.

"But that is because he is a boy pretending to be a man when he refuses to own up to his own needs. Going Kanima is different. And he is a wolf now, thanks to you."

"Why am I immune?"

He shrugs, and it's the most infuriating thing. "Your guess is as good as mine. Could be anything from luck of the genetic draw, to descendent of a long dead deity. I chose not to question the particulars, and just thank my lucky stars."

Part of her wants to strangle him for being so unhelpful. The logical part insists she move on to what is, to her at least, the most important question. "Why did you interact with me as your younger self?"

For the longest time she thinks he won't answer, but then he appears to steady himself and speaks. "I wanted you to know you didn't need to fear me, but I couldn't do that if I stayed myself. Being as I was. . .hurt, but it gave you the control you felt you needed, the control you never actually lost." He falls silent again.

She nearly replies, but holds herself back. Speaking now, she's sure, would mean she won't learn everything.

Eventually he starts up again. "And I felt that you would respond better romantically if I was closer to you in age."

This time she keeps her mouth shut because she'd look like a fish otherwise. When she finally gains control of herself she responds. "You thought I would like you better if you were a _teenager_?"

He doesn't meet her eyes and she decides not to mention the fact that she flirted with _Mr. Argent_. Age had never been a defining factor for her when looking for a partner. She'd just happened to settle of Jackson because he'd wanted her too. And look how that had turned out.

She won't deny that his younger self had been quite attractive, just the right mix of charm and biting intelligence that has always intrigued her. But from a purely physical standpoint she thinks she likes his older self more.

Lydia lies down and stretches as best she can, not missing the way his eyes follow her. She bites back a smile. "And how would you have gone about seducing me if you'd only had your older self, hmm? Just out of curiosity."

Something about him seems to _sharpen_ and the smile he gives her oozes charm and sexuality. "I don't think I would have had to do much. For such a complex girl I find you're quite easy to please."

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

In a blink he's above her, his hands on her wrists pinning her down. "Indeed."


	6. Don't lie, Pydia

Guess who's decided to post all the rest of her Pydia stuff here?

Prompt was: haleinskis: maybe like a confrontation between lydia and peter, something AU-ish, "i never lied" ?

Slight AU for "De-Void".

XXX

At least he's gentle pulling her aside, though she can still feel Scott's worried gaze on her. Nervously she licks the blood from her lips, notices right away how Peter's gaze zeros in. She holds back her shiver —fear excitement, doesn't matter— and looks him in the eye.

"Lydia," his tone is warning and praise all in one. "I upheld my part of the bargain."

Her eyes narrow, "You didn't say it would be like that." Not reliving the worst night of her life.

His own flat gaze dares her to protest further. "I said it wouldn't be easy, I didn't lie."

She exhales, forcing anger to leave with breath, it's no use against him. "Fine." He leans down a little, but she still has to rise onto her toes to reach his ear. "Malia." And she feels the Universe click onto a new path, for better or worse.


	7. Hole In My Soul, Pydia

Guess who's decided to post all the rest of her Pydia stuff on ?

Prompt was: unitedkingdom-orgy: Give me something with angsty and closed off Peter and Lydia trying to get him to open up and tell her whats wrong but he is being angsty and pouty. Then Lydia has to get possibly violent with Peter and knock some sense back into him.

XXX

Peter watched Derek leave and only after he couldn't hear him anymore did he move. One by one he plucked Talia's claws and tossed them onto the coffee table. Each clattered around for a moment, but not a one fell off.

He picked them up and let them fall again, their clattering sound reminding him of knucklebones and runes, though he doubted his sister would be so kind as to divulge the future to _him_.

This time he let the claws be and stared at them, feeling a little morose; he hadn't been lying to Derek when he'd said he wanted them because of sentiment, though he could understand why the pup would question him. The relationship between him and his sister, as far as Derek knew, had never been all that smooth. With a sigh he fell back onto the couch. "Well 'Lia I can't tell if I've won or lost this one." A sad fact in and of itself.

Unsure of whether or not he wanted to indulge in the memories that threatened to consume him, he floundered and they consumed him anyways.

_Hey Petey. . ._

000

Lydia raised her hand to knock on the door, then lowered it, then raised it, then lowered it again.

Clenching said hand she tried to banish the panic trickling into her mind. For all she knew no one was actually here, she certainly wouldn't want to live here after what happened; also it was well past midnight.

_What bearing does the time have on whether or not someone lives here?_ Even slightly sleep deprived logic was as pesky as always. Ignoring it she raised her hand a third time and finally knocked. She might not have had super hearing, but a loud thump was hard to miss.

The door opened far too quickly for her liking, revealing Peter. _Of fucking course_. She narrowed her eyes. "You."

"Really Lydia, this again?" His words might have been snarky, but his voice lacked its usual bite.

For the first time Lydia could recall emotion was the one tell her to let it go and just tell him about Barrow, Kira, and her suspicions; while _logic_ insisted she find out what his problem was. So, drawing herself up and pulling on her best 'in charge' demeanor, she brushed past him and into the loft.

"Yes Lydia, come right in." Again sarcasm without the bite, it was almost sickening really. She debated on take the direct or sly approach, then decided that, really, there was too much secrecy going on in this town.

Which meant she turned to face him and crossed her arms. "What is your problem?"

Peter sneered. "I don't know Lydia, perhaps my problem is the hoard of idiotic teenagers who can't even go five minutes without causing yet _another_ crisis."

Finding herself completely unimpressed, she arched an eyebrow. "Well you really have no one to blame but yourself. You _did_ start everything."

Apparently Peter was, in actual fact, twelve, because he stormed over to the couch and threw himself onto it. Dear God, it was almost like dealing with Jackson again. Resisting the urge to hit him, thought she filled it away as plan B, she sighed. "You might as well get it out, emotional constipation seems to precipitate most of those crisis you're complaining about." She opened her arms in a 'well' gesture "Get it out now and who know what problems we can avert."

Peter opened an eye for a moment then contemptuously closed it. "Flawless logic as always Miss Martin," he made her name sound far too dirty, even when he was angry, for her liking. "But I'm hardly a hormone driven teenager who just needs a shoulder to cry on."

Striding over to the couch she narrowed her eyes. "You could've fooled me."

Well at least that got a snort of amusement out of him. She started to speak again, but stopped short when she noticed the. . .whatever they were on the table. Hunching down she squinted at them for a moment, but decided to not chance touching them. In this town that would be like lighting a short fuse on a big bomb. Standing she looked down at Peter and crossed her arms again. "You know even supposedly grown-ass werewolves need therapy too."

He opened his eyes and stared straight into hers and she had no idea whether she should be pleased or annoyed, not a whole lot of people met her eyes these days. Peter arched an eyebrow. "Mathematics not enough for you now? Trying therapy as well?" He shifted around for a moment, then rested his hands on his waist. "Well Miss Martin it all started when I was still an egg in my mother's uterus."

The burst of laughter that escaped her surprised even her.

And that was apparently enough to mollify Peter a little. "Your concern, while surprising, is _severely_ displaced. And I would appreciate being left to myself."

She huffed and turned to leave, only to have her foot _somehow_ catch on the table, sending her sprawling forward. Her arms shot forward to break her fall and, of course -because this was her fucking life-, her hands touched the things sitting on the table.

_Fanfuckingtastic_. Something dark pulled her under:

_Smoke fills her nose as she tries to scent someone, _anyone_, in this inferno. Hunching down to the floor she decides she can risk calling out. "Glenn? Merry?" All she hears in reply is the roar of the fire. "Alex? Peter?"_

_Something that is possibly a human groan answers on her left. Getting as close to the ground as she can she begins crawling that way. Only stopping when she hits Glenn's body, her wolf howling in despair, she herself letting out a chocked sob. Her parents had raised her to be calm and collected under pressure, but _this_, this is too much to even think of bearing._

_The fire is hot enough that her tears evaporate almost instantly, making her want to cry even harder. Trying to hold back hacking coughs she continues crawling until she finds Peter trapped under a support beam, but still alive. Even with her dwindling strength it's easy enough to push it off. Uncaring of what it might do it him she digs her claws into his shoulder._

_He snarls and opens his eyes, glowing guilty-blue. Her hand still gripping his shoulder she begins pulling him towards the kitchen and the basement trap door. "Have you seen anyone?"_

_Peter just looks at her for a moment, as if he can't comprehend her words. Then: "I saw Alex go upstairs to try and get Sam."_

_As if in horrific counterpoint, the flames roar even louder and they watch as a corner of the house collapses. They both continue crawling. They pass Aunt Merry's body in the kitchen; this time she barely pauses, though she hears a choked sob from Peter._

_Finally they reach the trap door and together they yank it open, the fire's down there too, though not as fierce. "Yank down the middle shelf on the west wall, it opens a secret passage."_

_A pained expression crosses his face but he nods. "What about you 'Lia?"_

_Her old nickname is a shock she can't deal with right now. "I've got to find Alex and Sam." Her make and youngest need her. Peter starts climbing down the ladder, but she stops him before he gets too far. "Swear that if I die you'll protect my children."_

_Peter's face shutters, and part of her wants to pull him close and say she's sorry for everything._

"_I swear on my marrow."_

_The force of his oath surprises her, and she finds herself smiling a little. There's so much more she wants to say to him: that she forgives him for what he did to Paige all those years ago, that she misses the pranks they used to play, that she loves him, but there isn't enough time for any of that. Instead she looks him in the eyes. "And swear that you'll find whoever did this and make them pay."_

_Anger blooms on his face and her blood chills at the sight. "With pleasure sister."_

_Finally she lets him go and begins making her back back to the entryway and the stairs. A sharp whine drives her faster, at least until she realizes it isn't a sound made my her pup or mate, but by steam in the pipes. But she still continues on._

_Now on the second floor, all she smells, sees and tastes is smoke; and even though she's nearly flush to the ground she gets mouthful after mouthful of it. She knows Alex is close though, she can almost _feel _it._

_By the time she reaches the nursery her breathing is labored and her vision begins to gray. With one last final push she touches the door and shoves it open._

_And there on the floor, just barely visible is Alex, her handsome wonderful mate, with Sam clutched tightly in his arms._

_Neither of their hearts are beating and as she stares at them something in her breaks. Curling up she begins to cry again, great heaving sobs shaking her body._

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sor–

_Blackness._

Lydia inhaled violently and recoiled from the claws. Almost instantly Peter was at her side a. . .concerned look on his face. For a moment he disappeared, all she knew was the sight blackened flesh and the smell of cooked meat. Her stomach heaved and Peter reappeared. "I'm going to be sick."

Quickly, but smoothly, he escorted her to the bathroom. She knelt in front of the toilet at apparently just the right moment, her mind conceded the fight and she vomited. Too warm hands brushed back her hair, and she hated how grateful she felt for that. Eventually her stomach gave up the ghost and she slumped gratefully against the opposite wall.

As if through bad reception she hear the toilet flush and Peter walking away, though he returned surprisingly fast putting a hot mug in her hands. "Chamomile tea, it'll help."

She drank, if only to get the taste of bile out of her mouth. Almost meekly she let Peter lead her back to the living room and the couch, Her stomach gave an unhappy gurgle at the sight of Talia's claws, but she ruthlessly tamped it down, she could, and _would_, control herself.

Listlessly she watched as Peter picked up the claws and put them into a cylinder. "They showed me the fire."

His movements paused for a moment, then resumed. "I assumed as much."

"How?" She put the empty mug on the table as forcefully as she could without breaking it.

Closing the cylinder Peter sat on the coffee table so they were face to face. "Despite what everyone thinks Lydia I am _not_ the font of all knowledge. And to be perfectly honest banshees are so rare that there's very few facts known about them."

_Wonderful_. "Were you thinking about the fire before I came here? Is that why I saw it?"

Peter closed his eyes, but shook his head. "No. I do my best to avoid thinking about that, I tend not to be myself when I do." He seems unaware of his clawed finger digging a spiral into the wood of the table, and she decided not to mention it. "Before, however, is fair game."

She shifted, discomfort filling her like worms. "Do you want to talk about it?" He might have said 'no' before, but things were different now.

"But one by one we must all file on/ through the narrow aisles of pain." He spoke as if by rote, saying something heard so often that it didn't really mean anything anymore.

Will if they were doing recitations: "Drive your cart and your plough over the bones of the dead." Apropos, considering who she was talking to.

He gave a strange smile, full of teeth and misery. "You have me there lovely banshee."

Needing something to do she stood and took her mug to the kitchen, shivering when she passed through a spot she knew was only cold for her. Setting her mug down she rested her arms on the counter and made herself think only about breathing. She knew Peter could hear her, but at least he let her not-cry in peace.

With a sigh she collected herself for the second time that night and forced her body to head to the door; if she stayed any longer she had no idea what she'd do, she was far too unsettled by the night as it was.

"Lydia."

She turned to see Peter standing, faintly lit by the waning moon, but she didn't speak.

"Thank you."

Still not speaking she turned around again, all the better to hide her smile, and left.


	8. Please Hang Up And Try Again, Pydia

Guess who's decided to post all the rest of her Pydia stuff here?

Prompt was: Anonymous: pydia prompt: drunkdialling.

XXX

Stiles usually doesn't let himself get _this_ drunk, but it happens sometimes. And because he's this drunk, doing things like calling Lydia at midnight are _terrific_ ideas.

"Hello?"

"Hi Lydia!"

"Stiles, I -" She gives a short shriek which quickly devolves into giggles. "Stop!"

"Imma not doing anything."

He can practically hear her roll her eyes. "Not you. . .Off, you stupid dog, this could be important."

Stiles frowns. "You don't have a dog." His brain hurts a little at how complex that sentence is. He hears the sound of a guy's voice but can't make out the words and his frown deepens.

"The term dog refers to any male canine, so of course you're one." Her tone changes a little. "Now what's going on Stiles?"

"Nothing! Just -"

She shrieks again, this time it morphs into a 'cannot be construed as anything but sexual' moan at the end. "Gonna call back later. . ."

"Peeettteerrr, you asshole." Is the last thing he hears before hanging up.

When he finally wakes in the morning it's with a headache the size of Russia and cotton mouth. His hand slaps around on his nightstand for his phone to check the time. But when he hits a random button he gets a text notification instead.

He hits 'read' and stares at the words uncomprehendingly: _Stiles, you tell anyone about last night and I _will_ kill you_. The little 'from' line reads 'Lydia – Ruler of all'.

He decides not to text back asking what happened, because he tends to do stupid things when drunk, like hit on Adonis-bodied werewolves; and really not knowing is probably for the best.

It can't have been that important anyways.


	9. Teacher Teacher, Pydia

Guess who's decided to post all the rest of her Pydia stuff here?

Prompt was: Anonymous: pydia - AU, where he is her teacher.

XXX

_Almost_ _done_, she thinks as she walks into her history class. Her last semester and then she can get out of this idiotic town that offers no challenge, _finally_.

There's still a minute or two before the bell rings but she's surprised that Mrs. Murry isn't there yet.

When the bell rings the whole class starts whispering, everyone clearly wondering what the hell was going on.

Five minutes in the class looks like it's about to mutiny and up and leave. Which is when vice-principal Pierceson walks in with another man. The class quiets down. "I'm sorry to say that due to an extended leave of absence Mrs. Murry will not be teaching your class. Luckily Mr. Hale has agreed to step in and take her place."

The eyes of every student, her included, turn to Mr. Hale. Assessing and judging, trying to figure him out. Though if she stares a little longer at the broad sweep of his shoulders under his jacket, well she's the only one who knows.

Mr. Pierceson leaves, and the class fills with the subtle frisson of teens about to test their new authority figure.

And Mr. Hale side-steps it all by sitting on the desk and smiling. Lydia finds herself shifting in her seat at that smile, with just a little more teeth than most, and, hopefully, inconspicuously crossing her legs.

"Now I'm sure you all expected this class to be easy, more useless information to be memorized only to be forgotten when summer comes." His smile turns a little evil. "Well you should throw that expectation out the window."

The class groans.

"Oh don't worry, I'm not planning to murder you with work. But I _will_ challenge you, force you to think in ways you're not used to. You're more than welcome to switch classes if you don't think you can keep up."

He reaches behind him for the roll sheet. "Adams, Michelle."

When he reaches 'Martin, Lydia' she gives him her own too toothy smile. "Here."

Bright blue eyes linger for a moment before moving on to the next student.

She's sure she'll have him wrapped around her finger soon enough.


	10. Wounds, Pydia

Guess who's decided to post all the rest of her Pydia stuff here?

Prompt was: Anonymous: Lydia gets turned on when Peter touches her scars.

XXX

His hands brush her sides and she gasps. They vanish and his worried face appears above hers. "Are you alright?"

Part of her wants to laugh at his concern, because _of course_ she's alright, but she holds that part back. "Yes!"

He raises an eyebrow but ducks down again to continue his line of hickeys and bites. But best of all his hands resume their wanderings, one grabs her hip and pushes down to stop her squirming. The other strokes her stomach and for a brief moment a claw catches against her scars and she _mewls_. He stops again, but doesn't move this time.

And very deliberately the hand on her stomach moves right and oh so gently, _presses_ into her scars. She tries to buck up, but the hand on her hip prevents her. "Why, Miss Martin, do you like that?"

She hates it when this happens, when he finds out something new about her and decides to have fun with it. Then again she hadn't even considered this herself. "And what if I do?" She challenges back, though her voice is a bit too breathy to truly be taken seriously.

She can feel his grin against the skin of her shoulder. And doesn't know if she should feel dread, or excitement.

Now that he knows about it, he won't stop doing it. Light, teasing brushes at the store. If she sits between his legs at pack meetings her right side is met with a firm, steady pressure from his thigh; which is the worst because everyone can smell it, well except for Stiles. She's taken to sitting on his left side on couches and the like because being pressed against his side is better than his hand pressing, stroking, and prodding.

She much prefers it when they're not in public and she can actually do something about the smug look on his face that comes when he smells her arousal.

And Lydia has to wonder how messed up is it that the monster who gave her those scars can turn her on just by touching them.


	11. Sleep, Pydia

Guess who's decided to post all the rest of her Pydia stuff here?

Prompt was: screaming-towards-apotheosis: Here have a Pydia prompt! Soft, fierce, daughter.

XXX

A familiar wail from the room next door woke him, with a groan he rolled out of bed and stood. Lydia slept like the dead -heh- so it always fell to him to look after their daughter at night.

With long familiar movement he scooped her up and gently started bouncing her. "Shhh, shhh dear. Don't want to wake mama." Talia's wail subsided into whimpers. "You hungry or just want a shoulder?" A sniff had told him that she didn't need her diaper changed; at least he'd dodged that bullet with Malia -though technically he'd dodged them all-.

After a few more bounces her whimpers turned into happy baby sounds and a smile twitched at his lips. "Six months and you're already taking after your mother," he'd long since lost track of how many times Lydia had fallen asleep curled up in his lap or next to him.

For a few moments he mentally debated on whether or not to just bring Talia back into his and Lydia's room, but he knew Lydia would harangue him in the morning over it. Giving a soft sigh he laid Talia back in her crib, tucking her minky blanket around her.

Eventually she settled again and he brushed some of her fiery hair. "Oh sweetheart, I'll destroy the world if you want me to." He'd do the same for Lydia if she asked him to.

They'd done it for him when he needed it most, it's only fair he return the favor.


	12. Almost, Marrish

For lostmemoria: Hi! :) I saw you're accepting prompts and was wondering if you can do marrish with this prompt?: BEING ON THE BRINK OF ADMITTING THEIR FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER BUT THEN GETTING INTERRUPTED (sorry caps i just copy pasted lol)

000

"Lydia?"

She looks up from her coursework, college was actually a bit of a challenge, brushing her hair out of her face to see Jordan standing behind the other chair at the table; he's shifting his weight so often from one let to the next she's afraid he might start sloshing his coffee. "Yes?"

He doesn't look all that different from the last time she saw him two and a half months ago, but something _is_ different about him. "Can I sit?"

Automatically she starts closing and stacking textbooks. "Yeah. Sorry about the mess."

"No problem," he gives her a twitch of a smile and sits.

Determined _not_ to do any work, Thanksgiving break is barely enough time do to three papers, she puts her pens and pencil away. "So how have you been? How's the department?"

"It's good, I'm good." His ears turn pink and he quickly raises his mug to his mouth. "You?"

"School's hard but fun, I'm glad I decided to MIT." Sure it put her out of touch with everyone on the day to day basis but well, she had to do something for herself.

He sips his coffee. "Cool, I'm uh glad that's going well for you." He sips again, grimaces. "Look there's something I want to tell you." He puts his mug down hands rapidly turning it around and around. "And I was gonna do it before you left but then there was that whole merrow thing and…"

Lydia finds herself growing annoyed, because those merrow were the _worst, _and pleased-embarrassed, because Jordan actually going to? She's fairly certain she's blushing now too.

All summer they'd been dancing around each other, but because Beacon Hills was Beacon Hills not much had come of it; crisis after crisis erupting so often Lydia was surprised she never got whiplash.

But two and a half months of breathing room has made her realize that, yes, maybe she does like him, in ways she never really liked any of her previous boyfriends –"Remember what it feels like. All of those times in school when you see him standing down the hall and you cannot breathe until you're with him." She thinks she does now.

So she gives him an encouraging look. "And?"

He and his mug still. "And I think I–"

Vincent Price's cackle erupts from her phone. They both jump at the sound, quickly followed by a growl from her because _seriously Stiles I've barely been in Beacon Hills for less than 24 hours and you've already created a big enough problem that you're calling me?_

The exasperated look they share warms her chest though.


	13. Vacation, Marrish

Verajomoholic asked: Marrish planing their first vacation together but can't decide cause Lydia wants beach and sunbathing and Jordan hiking or camping or something a little adventurous like that?:D

000

"What's wrong with Oregon?" Jordan slides onto the couch next to her.

"You mean besides the depressing beaches only surpassed the further up the west coast you get? Nothing." She arches an eyebrow as she scoots up against his side. His arm curls around her shoulders.

He gives a affectionate sigh. "But the Steens are gorgeous–" She gives him a look, which earns her a face in return. "Alright, your turn to suggest then."

"Hawai'i."

"In July? The only thing worse than the humidity would be the tourists." His shoulders slump. "And anyways the Haiku stairs are an illegal hike now."

Lydia is _not _going to ask and just be glad it's illegal. "Your turn then."

His fingers tap a little beat on her bicep as he thinks. "Greece? Lots of beaches, all the history, and I've always wanted to hike Olympus."

"And you're ragging on me for picking Hawai'i? It gets even hotter in Greece." Though the thought of going to see all those historical landmarks, even in a giant crowd of tourists, is an intriguing one.

Jordan laughs. "Give me dry heat over humid any day. And don't think I haven't notice you didn't turn it out of hand." He waggles his eyebrows.

She quickly responds with a playful shove. "Hush you."

He moves with the shove flopping back to take up the rest of the couch and dragging her along with him. He grins up at her from her new position on top of him. "Now I've got you!"

"Really?" She rolls her eyes. But since she's more amused than anything else she dips down and kisses him. "And while I think we should discuss other possibilities, we can put Greece on the list."

"You mean start the list right? Because I'm pretty sure this is the first one we've agreed on."

This time she shoves him _off_ the couch. But he gets the last laugh when he pulls her along once more.


	14. Shoes, Pydia

For screamin-towards-Apotheosis who asked: Pydia, people watching and judging bad shoes.

Here there be aromantic!Lydia.

000

She and Peter sit in one of the many cafe's that seem to litter Barcelona enjoying their drinks and watching people pass to and fro. She lounges back in her chair eyes critical behind her sunglasses. A woman walks past, talking rapidly in Catalan and Lydia's eyes zero in on her feet. "Oh dear God, _pleather_? Sweetheart your suit deserves a lot better than that."

Across from her Peter chuckles. "Shall we stop her and tell her we're the fashion police?" He arches an eyebrow and almost too casually takes a sip from his coffee. The too casualness makes sense when a second later he catches one of her legs with his own.

"Not when I'm apparently trapped." She arches an accusing eyebrow of her own. If he goes any further down that path she's going to have to make a note of it since footsie isn't in the list, not even in the sexy way.

He takes another sip of his coffee. "True, though for a moment there you did look like you were going to jump out of your seat and rip those abominations off her feet." His legs don't do anything more, and while she doesn't relax, not that she was tense in the first place, she does just stop thinking about it.

She smiles, "please, I'd be doing her, and the world, a favor." Delicately she picks up her own neglected chai, turning the mug this way and that, watching the now deflated foam swirl around. Bringing it up to her mouth she takes a sip, glad it hasn't gone too cold. As she lowers her mug her attention turns back to the crowd.

"And her?" Peter's good at pointing things and people out in such a way that you know exactly what he's gesturing at.

Lydia gives the woman a critical eye. "Her dress' tailored, well too." She has a brief and fleeting hope the woman'll move closer, but no such luck. "And I think I want her boots." Her attention goes back to Peter. "If we finds those boots in a shop you're buying them for me."

Which gets another raised eyebrow out of Peter. "Oh really?"

"Mmmhmmm. If you do I might get you that jacket you've been drooling over." They've been here three days, and in that time they've 'passed' the shop that contains said jacket at least nine times, not counting the initial first 'meeting'. Peter can be so obvious with his attentions some times.

"Depending on the cost of the shoes that might not be a fair exchange." He finishes off his coffee and shuffles it and it's saucer off to the side.

Lydia waves a hand, "well if so we can work out the difference later." For her it's tantamount that all things be equal. "But yes, boots for jacket." She sets her own mug down, extracts her leg and sits. "Now come on I actually want to get to the Marès Museum today."

He gets up and offers her his arm. She looks at it for a few moments but doesn't take it and just starts walking. Behind her Peter huffs and easily catches up.


End file.
